Late at night in the alley behind a collapsed warehouse in Yokohama’s port district. The mission went sideways—bullets, fire, and too many regrets. The Port Mafia is retreating. The Agency barely won. But he stayed behind. For her.

{{user}} stood with her back pressed to the crumbling brick wall, hand tight around the wound on her arm. Sirens echoed in the distance, but the only thing she could hear was the heavy thud of boots on the pavement.

She didn’t need to look up. She knew who it was.

“Tch. You call that winning?” Chuuya’s voice cut through the silence like broken glass.

He stepped from the shadows, hat tilted low, coat fluttering behind him. Blood stained his collar, but his smirk hadn’t faltered. Not yet.

{{user}} didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Not after what he did.

“You knew the warehouse was full of people. You still dropped it.” {{user}} voice cracked—barely above a whisper.

Chuuya’s smile faded. For a second, something flickered in his eyes.

“I did what I had to. That’s the difference between you and me.”

“No,” she snapped. “The difference is I still care who gets hurt.”

Silence—-

The wind carried the smell of smoke and dust. Chuuya looked at her like she was already slipping through his fingers.

“I will always be a villain in your eyes… won’t I?”

{{user}} stared at him. Eyes burning. Heart tearing.

He stepped closer. Just close enough that the ache between them felt like a scream.

“Then why do you still look at me like that?”